


Keys

by pseudocitrus



Category: Tokyo Ghoul, Tokyo Ghoul:re
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 02:54:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3961774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudocitrus/pseuds/pseudocitrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>:re comes with a piano that Touka can't play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keys

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by neimana pointing out that MUSEUM, the cafe :re is based on, has a piano.
> 
> hope you're having a good day!

The space comes with a piano.

“We don’t need it,” Touka protests, to which Yomo replies, “It would be harder to move it than to just leave it.”

So the piano stays, though it contrasts with Touka’s original vision of :re, and no one ever plays it.

Well, no one usually plays it. Sometimes, though, Touka can’t help herself; at the lonely hour when everyone is at actual restaurants eating dinner, she hovers, and prods the notes, one by one. Musical instruments are a little magical; they’re something she never really had the chance to encounter when she was young, much less learn to play. It’s remarkable that something so hollow is capable of such loud noises.

She’s poking around, trying to find the last notes to complete a certain chorus, when someone clears their throat behind her. Touka jumps.

“S-sorry,” she stammers, and — well, of course it would be him, of all people.

“It’s alright,” he tells her. He smiles. “What are you playing?”

“Nothing,” she says quickly. “Just — just fiddling around. Please, have a seat.”

He hesitates, then nods and takes his usual table. Some time later Touka brings him his usual order, and that seems to be the end of it, until his next visit.

“Sorry I haven’t been around as often,” he tells her at the service counter, watching her prepare his coffee. “It’s been really busy.”

“It’s alright,” Touka says, not looking at him. “You don’t owe me being here.”

She’s saying it more for herself than for him.

“I don’t need to be here,” he concedes. “But this place is nice. I don’t want to see it go under.”

Touka snorts. “It’s not always empty in here, you know.”

“Oh?”

“You just always come around when normal people are eating normal food.”

She slides the finished mug over to him. He sips, and sighs.

“Delicious as always. Thank you.”

She bows. “Thank you.”

Now is when he leaves to take his usual seat — but instead, he hesitates.

“Do you mind if I play the piano?”

“Ah…no, not at all.” He can play? Since when? “Please, help yourself.”

His smile is showing again. He smiles so much more than he used to.

“Will you come by me?” he asks, and there aren’t customers to use as an excuse, so she goes. He sits at the bench and tugs back, a bit, the cuffs of his sleeves. His fingers spread, and he plays.

After a moment, Touka’s heart catches.

It’s the same song she was trying to play.

After the first chorus he glances up to her, with that smile.

“I-impressive,” she tells him. “I never really had the chance to learn when I was a kid.”

“Me neither,” he admits. “I just found a book somewhere. And some online videos.”

He thinks, then pats the bench beside him.

“I can teach you.”

She shouldn’t, but she finds herself doing it anyway, arranging her skirt beneath her. He plays the melody out slow, over and over, correcting her fingering until she can do it herself. Then he sets his foot on the pedal, and sets his left hand on the low notes, and they play together.

It’s slow, at first, but they speed up with each pass. When they finally manage to play out the chorus with the proper timing, Touka fumbles and apologizes, but he just laughs lightly and presses down on a triplet of notes that somehow complements her error perfectly.

“Just keep playing,” he tells her, and she does, and though there are a couple more stumbles, she can’t quite catch him off guard. At some point, her hand drifts toward the center keys just as his does, and their fingers collide.

Finally, they stop playing. He’s smiling again, and making a nervous chuckle that stops immediately once he gets a good look at her.

“O-oh — miss — are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Touka says, looking away and fumbling in her pockets for her handkerchief. “Sorry. Sorry. I — I’m fine, I just —”

Just can’t understand, suddenly, why he had to change again. Was piano-playing a skill that he used to have, or just something that she never knew about him? Is it something new that he was able to learn, now that he doesn’t have all the same worries and pain as before?

She should be happy for him. She makes herself suck in a breath. She should be happy.

“You’re really talented,” she manages, and she realizes belatedly that her handkerchief is not here and a tear has made its way to the top of her cheek. She stands, saying, “I’m sorry, but I need to get back to—”

He kisses her. His mouth is warm; she feels the faint pressure of his tongue dabbing up her tear. An instant later, he jerks back.

“S-sorry,” he stammers. “Sh-shoot, I — I’m sorry, I don’t know why I —”

“It’s okay,” Touka says breathlessly. “It’s — it’s okay.”

Her mouth is dry, and her body hot, She finds herself thinking, _Maybe some changes aren’t that bad._

They look at each other, and then at the cafe door, but normal people are busy, eating normal food, and meanwhile he is following the trail of another tear all the way down her neck. She presses her hands against his shirt, against a belly that is definitely not as soft as it used to be, and she holds her breath.

The cafe echoes with the discordant sound of her elbows and back jamming against the keyboard. There’s a brief silence, and then two more little clamors as her heels hit the low keys, and then the high ones.


End file.
